Impeccable Poetry - Hello Poetry

Jan 13

Coleen Mzarriz

We saved the world. We threw the last bomb into the crowds of rotting bodies and decaying brains. We crossed one final street and shut the gates behind us. We were safe. Or so I thought.

We celebrated—a fleeting, fragile moment of peace. Amid the laughter and relief, all I could do was watch him. He was in the center of it all, embracing everyone who had gathered around him. Then, I saw it—a trickle of dark liquid seeping from his jacket.

My heart stopped. My joy shattered into panic, and my lips quivered as I whispered in fear. The world has already been burned, and yet—burned even more as my body slowly shaken in agony.

“No. That can’t be. Oh God, no—please!”

I ran to him, my hands trembling as I lifted his jacket. The truth was undeniable. It was there all along. He had been bitten.

I froze, panic gripping my chest. I choked until I could not breathe anymore.

He didn’t speak a word. He didn’t have to. His eyes met mine, and I saw everything. He knew. He had known all along. He had insisted we go to Churchill Street first, pushing through the pain, enduring the wounds inflicted into his tired body. He wanted to make sure we were somewhere safe before it all happens. Somewhere where the night isn’t a nightmare
—and then turn into one of those lowly rotting bodies we used to aim our guns with.

“How dare you, Sid!” I choked on the words as tears streamed down my face. Before I could say more, he collapsed to the ground.

“Can you sing me my favorite song?” he whispered, his voice soft and strained.

I opened my mouth to protest, to beg, but his pleading gaze stopped me. I nodded, holding back sobs, and began.

“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy”

As I sang, he reached into his pocket and handed me a pair of eyeglasses I had been wanting for so long. They weren’t my usual prescription, but I took them, holding them to my chest as if they were a piece of him.

I cupped his face and pressed my lips to his, tears mingling with our fleeting touch. Then I lay beside him on the cold ground, holding him close as I finished the song.

“Goodnight, Sid,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “See you in the morning.”

He smiled, content, and mouthed the three words we used to say to each other before every battle.

“Sleep now, my beautiful boy,” I said, my voice trembling with sorrow. I kissed his forehead and whispered a final prayer for him as his eyes slowly closed.

a flash fiction with some elements of post-apocalyptic fiction that I really wanted to write. I missed writing creative stories and plainly using my imagination. it’s good to know I still have it in me. hope you enjoy :)

song: beautiful boy - john lennon

#apocalypse #fear #agony #heart #joy #nightmare #song #touch #kiss #eyes

Jan 12

Marshal Gebbie

Then, There Were the Moments....

Then, there were the moments
When the air was crisp and sweet,
When you threw me funny comments
That, in truth, I failed to meet.
When the shadows of the forenoon
Shone like icicles of blue
And the mood was one of indigo
A coalescence, Love, of you.

Then there were moments
When the doubt began to seep,
Where anxiety intruded
And bled me of my sleep.
In those darkened halls of velvet
Where crimson nightmares lurk
And the horror of a memory
Where dread began its work.

But then there were the moments
Where the sunshine had its way,
Where the liquid green of leafage
In the crystal breeze would sway.
The platitudes would vanish,
Condescension's cease,
When the softened light of raindrops
Kissed your mirrored pond of Peace.

[email protected]
12 January 2025

Jan 11

South-by-Southwest

Why write ?

Screaming , "What?"
. . . does no good .

Turn your hands inside out . . . you , the magician
tricked me out .

A childhood playground
(swinging up and over the the bar) . . . a distance too far to accomplish . . . come toppling down bar to ground . . .

So I lofted my dreams higher than possible , improvable saith the powers that be .

I turn over in my grave before I've been buried or depositioned

Yes I've sinned over and over and made my Jerusalem look like Heaven

Let no stone remain on top of another

Let no word
persuade another
unless it be
the truth

I leave the words
to be the pale wind combing through the limbs of bare trees lichened in hopeless desparation

. . . consummatum est .

Jan 11

Anais Vionet

class of ‘25

If freshman year was aspirational
and sophomore year was unhinged
junior year was put up or shut up
and senior year is a dash to the finish line

This year’s on fast forward—and it’s for keeps
every to-do list has value-laden questions
things seem sharp edged, single use and intense
it’s all about trajectories and ‘landing spots”

Let’s wax poetic..

Produce now, or spend fury on thyself—all else is untenable
we’re past youth and ignorance—your honour’s at stake

Suitors call you by name, like well-acquainted friends
they took your measure—you’re beyond the mark of others
they ****** with money—the future brings liberty and noble deeds.

So don the the garland and prove thyself—take the field
join the battle—now’s the reward—aidless, perpetual toil
with every motion be right, it’s thy shunless destiny.
.
.
A song for this:
A Man of Great Promise by The Style Council
Headstart For Happiness by The Style Council

BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 01/10/25:
Untenable = cannot be defended against attack or criticism.

#senior #finishing #future #pressures #humor

Jan 11

Jīn Sīyǎ

Unyielding

Charming looks and honeyed words,
you had them easy and out always,
and to fall for that version of you,
was easy and many did come that way.

Got lost in our friendship and I too,
reached there, but so very differently;
slowly, mesmerized by your kindness,
imperfections and your childishness.

Felt a profound love, my first one, and,
you, never knew love was so deep.
For, though you had meant fooling,
our love had the power to transform us.

Easy to walk away you thought;
and you tried, but you just couldn't.
Though forever was not in the picture,
invisibly the hearts were connected .

Too late to make things right,
unwilling to leave, the heart stayed;
with no wants or needs whatsoever,
but love to give to each other.

Grateful for your love.

Jan 10

beth fwoah dream

[moonflower]

out of the water, the water of ghost pools,
you rose, naked figurehead, oh, flower of night.
an impressionist's brush shook the water
like light reflected on moonstone.
****** of prisms, flowering, flowering,
lost ocean of star voices, forgotten star.
you sang and the night ran towards the sea,
you blossomed and the night became a wanderer.
nectar of the gods, sky-visionary, you sink into
the night like the petal of a rose, the grass almond-
eyed and whispering to you her dreams, fluttering
like a butterfly; little moonflower, you gather
the shadows and the song of the dark, the
drift of the clouds is your bare feet running,
the drift of the clouds, the cold sea crashing
in the harbour, the drift of the clouds,
the incredible overflowing of sky, poet-
ink and straying hair, the drift of
the clouds, everything that scatters
like you on the wind.

we're going away for a few days so i won't be replying to comments

i'm afraid S R Mats has still not taken down my heavily plagiarized poem that she has titled 'from strength to strength'. if anyone is friends with her could you please ask her to take it down for me. i would ask her myself but she is on block.

#iminlovewithyouian